Like Being Stoned
by fortheloveofwomencontest
Summary: "She was kissing me back like we had a million years for this kiss, slower than time spent in hell and better than time spent in heaven." An entry for the For the Love of Women contest.


**TITLE:** Like Being Stoned

**SUMMARY:** "She was kissing me back like we had a million years for this kiss, slower than time spent in hell and better than time spent in heaven."

**RATING:** M (language, minor drug use, lady-loving warnings apply)

**PAIRING: **Bella/Rosalie

**DISCLAIMER: **Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all related content.

The music upstairs was so loud I could feel it in the floor under me, tiny tremors and vibrations buzzing up my spine and into my skull. The ancient zombie movie we'd been watching had long been drowned out by the noise, and Rose and I had been making up our own script for it between hits off a joint. I thought about going up and telling someone to turn it down but I was comfortably scrunched into my favorite beanbag chair and it had taken me a few minutes to find that spot. My blanket was perfectly arranged for maximum relaxation, and that wasn't the kind of thing one ruined lightly.

"Bella, are you stoned?"

Jasper's voice came from somewhere behind me, but I couldn't be bothered to turn around and find him. "Yep," I said, grinning even though he couldn't see me.

"You wild girl, you. Celebrating your freedom or your impending doom?"

The hundred or so people upstairs made up most of the graduating class of Forks High. We'd all lived through years of school to go off to... more school. Hooray. Either way, it was a night to celebrate, and while I didn't smoke often thanks to Officer Dad, I had tonight. Enjoying my youth while it's still enjoyable and all that. Whatever, I just wanted to lose myself for a little while, turn off my mind. Smoking with Rose in her brother's basement was a great way to do that, and had the added bonus of being away from the people upstairs. I'd spent the last thirteen years with them, I figured I was due for a break before I saw most of them again at the local college.

"Just celebrating. I'm young. I'm a fucking high school graduate. Watch out world!" I giggled, and knew I was really stoned when I didn't cringe at the sound. I hate gigglers. I hate giggling. But when I smoked, I giggled. Rose didn't say anything, for once. She had to be pretty high herself; she hates gigglers more than I do, and never misses a chance to get on my case.

Jasper leaned down from his unseen place behind me and I felt his long hair brush my forehead seconds before his lips did. "Bella," he said, "You are so fantastically girly when you're high."

I snorted, because he was just saying it to piss me off. Jasper was my brother, only we didn't have any parents in common. We'd decided in second grade that we wouldn't let that minor detail get in the way of us being brother and sister. I got another sister out of that arrangement, though Rosalie was more like a supervisor than a sister. Or maybe that's what sisters do; boss you around a lot and say your clothes are ugly. I don't think I'd like having a real sister if that's true, but Rose is something else. She bosses and wrinkles her nose on the top, but at the bottom, the very deep dark bottom, she's loyal like a mama bear and twice as fierce. That's why she's my best friend.

"Jasper? You know I love you, right?"

I said it, then sat up straight and said it again, because I figured it's the kind of thing that should be said in a mostly upright position. "I love you, and Rose, so fucking much. I'm so pissed at both of you for leaving me for a stupid private university across the fucking continent, but whatever. I still love you."

"Bella?"

Once I was out of my beanbag nest, I could see Jasper walking up the basement stairs. He stopped at the top and I wanted to run over and hug him really hard. Except I was a little light-headed from moving so fast; he'd have to settle for my heartfelt proclamations.

"You know I love you too. Now hush, and smoke some more before you come upstairs. I want to see if we can get a repeat of last year's performance. You murder ABBA like no one else, B. I'm pretty sure you hit notes only dogs can hear." He winked and left before I stopped sputtering, so I gave up defense and laughed again. It had been pretty funny, from what I could remember. Which wasn't much, thankfully.

I fell back into my beanbag, about to pull the blankets back around me and light up a roach when Rosalie caught my eye. She was on the antique fainting couch Jasper's mom picked up from someones roadside trash. It had holes shredding both cushions, which actually improved the terrifyingly orange velvet. It was, however, a fainting couch, and cool in its own right. It immediately became Rose's spot. We all sat in it over the years, I even burned a hole in it when I passed out smoking a cigarette (and damn if Rose didn't ream my ass for ruining her chair, like it was so pristine to begin with). Each of us took turns on that thing, but none of us owned it like Rose. Where we would lounge across it, trying to align our bodies to fit it's curves, and end up uncomfortable and looking awkward as all hell, Rosalie reclined. She reposed, and sometimes reached a certain level of reveling. Even against that hideous orange, a faded color that may once have been pumpkin but was now carrot baby food, she was stunning. She would lay on that thing and look like a blond Cleopatra, needing someone to fan her with giant palm fronds and hand her grapes. She was longer than me and her skinny legs should have been sticking out all akimbo try to fit onto that thing, but she'd tuck them and turn them and then she'd be ready to reign over her kingdom. There's never been any denying her power. We all know it, and let her run things. Until we can't stand her being a brat anymore and make her smoke until she's too high to talk straight.

She looked like she's pretty deep in that state at the moment, staring at the screen and not seeing any of it. I watched her for a second and just took her in again. She's one of those girls whose beauty never becomes expected. She'll take the breath out of you ever single time. Jasper's the same way, only more shadowy and deep. With Jasper, you look once and almost see it, and look again just to be taken by his very male beauty. With Rose there is no second look; you look once and can't look away. They're fucking freaks of nature, I swear. Their mom looks like she's halfway between a mini-van full of soccer equipment and a guest spot on Jerry Springer. Ah, Doris. I fucking love that women.

Rose must look like her daddy is all I can figure, but none of us have seen him since we were still taking baths together, and his face is too fuzzy in my mind. She's the definition of statuesque, like she'd look graceful ballroom dancing or swinging a tennis racket, and forget that she's never done either before. She'd do it and win, if there was winning to be had, because that's Rose. We don't fuck with her too much.

But right then, I wanted to. Setting down the roach, I stalked towards Rose; I was trying to stalk, but I seem to remember tripping over the air in front of me and stumbling a little. I must have, because Rose's trance was broken and she looked over at me with her frozen diamond eyes. She wasn't as stoned as I'd thought. Testing the waters with another step, I kept going when she just watched, still as a cat about to pounce. It was a little unnerving, but I was still stoned enough to feel confident. Besides, I wanted something.

"Rosalie?"

She stretched and I thought about a cat again, all long lines and contours. Sharp claws too, I wouldn't forget that. Once bitten, twice shy. Or scratched anyway. The last time I'd tried to kiss her she'd almost drawn blood on my cheek. I wondered if I was a closet masochist and decided no, I probably wasn't. Because Rosalie was the best snuggler out there. Ever. In the world. Period. The way she'd magically fit on that little antique sofa? She'd do the same damn thing around a warm body. It was like being wrapped up in your favorite blanket with your favorite pillows and somehow a bath full of sugar cookies rolled into it. It was a great feeling, and I wanted it. Bad.

When she finally finished stretching she arched her eyebrow at me, something that had taken her an entire summer to learn as Alice and I watched, enthralled. It said a lot of things, but right then it was saying, "Yes, Bella?" with a little bit of, "I could bite your head off praying mantis style" thrown in. Oh, Rose.

"Scootch over, fatass."

That was a safe insult, as she had zero insecurities about her body. She just sniffed and moved as decorously as a lady from way back when. If ladies from way back then had scootched over for their female friends to come snuggle. I bet they did. If their lady friends had looked like Rose, I'm sure they did.

Rose moved and twisted a little and there was a perfect space for me to lay in front of her, little spoon style. I loved that, because Rose would let my head rest on one of her arms and run the other hand through my hair. It was safe and comforting and sensual, all at once.

We snuggled under her blanket again and watched the movie for a while, but I wasn't paying attention. I couldn't focus on it. The space around the two of us changed, charged, and once I was aware of it, I couldn't focus on anything else. Everything was overwhelming; the feel of her next to me, the weight suddenly crushing my chest, trying to breathe quietly when I felt like I was nearly panting from anticipation. Because I knew it was going to happen. My heart was beating so hard I wondered if she could hear it over the muted pandemoniom above us, but hers was too. I could feel it against my back, racing and jumping along. I tried to calm mine down, focusing on the beats and measures between them. The more I focused on it, the more it took over. I couldn't hear the party upstairs, or my breath rushing in and out. Just the constant pulse in my body, getting stronger, more urgent. Eventually every part of me was throbbing with it, drowning in it. Rosalie's fingers pulled down through my hair and lit every nerve in my body on fire on the way. My fingers and thighs tightened reflexively at the rush of sensations, and Rose must have noticed because her hand stopped threading through my hair and moved down to my temples. She rubbed gentle, tight circles there for a moment before pulling away to barely leave her skin in contact with mine as she grazed her fingertips down the side of my face, my neck, and across my shoulder.

That was all I could take. I turned over slowly, moving underwater and much too fast all at once. I wanted to hurry, to take my chance while I could, while this perfect moment was wrapped around us. I wanted this moment to last forever. Tilting my face slowly closer to hers, I slid my lips across her jaw from her chin to her ear. That close I could hear her breathing pick up; I could see her pulse jumping in her neck, the frenzied rhythm matching my own. That she was so calm and smooth on the surface was like a challenge, and what I felt changed from a smoldering ember into a windswept wildfire. Impatient, I threw one leg over her hips and turned my face so our lips would meet.

Rose's lips were as exquisitely formed as the rest of her, I'd known that since a game of spin the bottle in the eighth grade. They'd been soft and strong and sweet and powerful then, just like they were now. But now, I wanted it, and she wanted it too. She was kissing me back like we had a million years for this kiss, slower than time spent in hell and better than time spent in heaven. Those are my favorite kinds of kisses–the ones that don't rush anywhere, just drag out over a moment and make it stretch instead of allowing the next one to come.

She was kissing me slow as molasses but I could feel the heat beneath it. The way her fingers tightened just barely as they slid to my hips, the tiny jerk of her own hips as I slid one leg between them. She could play the ice queen, but she was melting beneath me, all her sharp angles becoming soft curves.

Within minutes her kisses got harder, messier, her tongue more demanding of my own. My hips rocked against hers, and the groan she let into my mouth made me do it again. She slid her hands under my shirt, across the bare skin of my back and made me arch and sigh. They slid down my sides and over my stomach, pushing up a little against me as she tried to unbutton my jeans. I couldn't stop moving against her and finally she got mad enough to stop running her tongue along my collar bone.

"Move. Stop for two seconds and lean back."

True to her word, I was on her again at the three second mark, only this time her palm was sliding across my lower belly, back and forth. She started kissing me slow again, and I tried to fumble her jeans open. There was no way that was happening; they were so tight they may as well have been painted on her. She shook her head and pushed her hand lower, her finger tips grazing so close to where I wanted her to be. I started rocking again, and each time she arched up to meet me, her hand slid inches lower, until finally they were there, first one then two, brushing too lightly and making my head spin. It was so much I couldn't kiss her anymore. I just rested my forehead against hers and panted as she licked my lips slowly. She was like a temple built for worshipers and yet she worshiped better than all of them.

She started whispering _Bella_, just barely making the sound against my lips, saying it over and over as I just whimpered or hummed in response. She seemed intent on watching every bit of what she extracted from me, her eyes searing into mine as she said my name, sliding her fingers further and down and finally in. She kept her fingers there, and my name on her lips, and when I could no longer control my body, when it took over and left me hanging on for dear life, she kissed me again. Kissed me with her eyes squinched closed and her forehead flushed and sweaty and her nose pressing mine to the side. She looked less perfect than I had ever seen her, and more beautiful than I'd ever imagined. I whispered her name as I shivered and shook, _Rosalie Rosalie Rosalie, _drowning in her and how beautiful she made me feel.

She held me against her, half on top and sliding off the sofa and I must have fallen asleep for awhile. I woke up and the TV was snowy, the sounds of revelry still going strong. Rose was gone, her space still warm beneath me, and I wondered how long l'd been sleeping. I heard movement near my feet, then Rose came into view. She was carrying two plastic red cups, so I knew she'd been upstairs, but she hadn't bothered to fix herself first. Her hair was mussed and her lips and cheeks were still flushed. She was gorgeous. She looked down at me and smiled, her lazy cat smile, and I felt like purring at her for a moment. I grabbed a roach instead and lit it, sitting up in my blanket cocoon.

"Bella?."

I waited, because it was going to be something or nothing; she was never an in-between type.

"Get off my couch already."

She nearly had all her pieces back in order, I could practically see the ice forming again. I couldn't let that happen; that look on her face, the messy, blushing, sated look that I'd never seen on her before... I wanted her to look like that forever.

"Rose?"

She waited, and for once I thought that maybe she was the uncertain one.

"Get back on this couch already."


End file.
